


Eyes of the Devil

by spiritwalker



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, He can't, M/M, Stripper!Jean, how can stripper jean not be sexy as heck?, jean is sexy as heck, marco is a cootie patootie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1729742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritwalker/pseuds/spiritwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Happy birthday, huh?’ He whips around, nearly stumbling as the alcohol pulses through his veins, and nearly has a heart attack as he locates the source of the voice. The Cherrybomb stands there, wearing nothing but an extremely tight pair of something that could only be described as booty shorts. Marco’s heart hammers in his chest as he stares at the man, mouth completely dry. His hair was a mess, dark eyeliner smudged under his ocher eyes as his perfect lips twitch into a smirk. ‘How old are you?’</p><p>In which Jean Kirstein is the sexiest stripper to walk the planet and Marco is his oblivious prey</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes of the Devil

A cold breeze whistles past Marco’s ears and he shivered, pulling his thick black coat more tightly around his lithe frame and lengthening his strides. The dim glow that the slender streetlights provided flickered and shifted frequently, dredging unbidden thoughts of demons and villains from the back of his mind. So, coupled with the ‘unfriendly’ nature of the area, Marco was understandably nervous. _They had to pick a shady area like this, didn’t they?_ Marco forces his mind back to the reason as to why he was currently hurrying through the slums of Trost.

_One week prior:_

_‘Hold up, Marco!’ Reiner’s slurred and explosive voice shook the room, sending tremors down Marco’s spine. ‘You’ve never been to a strip club before?!’_

_Marco flushed deep red in his embarrassment, scratching nervously at the label around his beer, the condensation aiding his task, ‘No, the –er… the…_ opportunity _never came up.’ His voice shook minutely and he was suddenly incredibly fascinated in the nutritional value of his drink._

 _Eren Jaeger’s obnoxious drunken laughter filled the air, his heavy breath reeking of sour alcohol, palpable even from where Marco was sitting. ‘Don’t be dumb, Reiner! Freckled Jesus here is far too saintly to dirty himself in a_ strip club!’ _He said the last words tauntingly, taking a long swig of beer, shifting his gaze to leer at Armin, who had screwed his delicate nose up in distaste from his boyfriend’s crass words._

_‘Eren! Now you’re just being mean. It’s like Marco said: he never had the opportunity.’ Armin smiled warmly at Marco, somewhat easing his discomfort._

_‘It’s his birthday next week, why don’t we take him then?’ The soft-spoken, nervous voice of Reiner’s timid boyfriend, Bertholdt, resonated weakly in the dimly lit room, only barely audible._

_Reiner roared with laughter and leaned over his boyfriend drunkenly, slapping Marco none-too-gently on his freckled back, ‘Sounds fucking perfect, Bertl! Next week, Marco, you’re losing your strip virginity!’_

_And with a sloppy kiss to Bertholdt’s sweaty cheek and a huge shit-eating grin, Reiner had sealed his fate._

Marco sighs audibly and shakes his head, dark brown hair brushing gently over his tanned forehead. He stuffs his hands into his pockets just as the tell-tale glowing neon sign promising _ass ass ass!_ entered his field of vision, accompanied by a familiar uproarious laughter that could only be Reiner. Sure enough, Marco spots his four best friends huddled outside the entryway, chatting animatedly. Eren is the first to notice him, pushing excitedly past the others as he barreled towards Marco.

‘Look who’s finally here! What’s up, Birthday Boy?!’ The other three hurry towards him as well, faces split wide with huge grins. Their enthusiasm is contagious, and Marco soon feels his trepidation at this whole outing gradually disperse as his friends shower him with birthday appreciation.

‘Woohoo, Birthday Boy! You ready for the best night of your life?’ Reiner’s hooks a beefy arm around his shoulders and tugs him easily towards the doors, Bert frowning apologetically in his peripheral.

There are two bouncers stationed on either side of the dark entry, one blonde and one bald, both as intimidating as Reiner in size and more so in demeanor. The two men thoroughly check their I.Ds, assuring them that it was company policy, ‘We here at _The Titan_ ensure that all of our guests are 100% legal, for your benefit.’ The blonde guard winked saucily at Marco as he spoke, and he felt a hot blush spread over his cheeks, allowing a timid smile at the man before hurrying inside with the others.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Marco inhales sharply, his senses immediately clouded by sweet perfume and the heady fumes of alcohol. The room was huge, dark except for pulsing red, yellow and purple lights. Music blared over the speakers, making it hard to hear even his own thoughts. A bar was set up in the far corner, men and women alike talking and laughing, tossing their hair and shaking their hips, vying for attention. There were bathrooms situated on either side of the bar, dank and grimy.  There were three stages set up next to each other, the largest in the middle flanked by two smaller, less populated areas.

Marco examined the club, discreetly searching for his friends throughout his assessment. His legs felt heavy as he attempted to walk, his movements sluggish. He was completely captivated by this new environment; the people, the smells, the sounds, everything was intoxicating.

He whipped his head around as a small, delicate hand rested on his shoulder, and he came face to face with Armin. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his friend, and followed him gratefully over to where the others were already seated in front of the main stage, drinks in hand.

“Hey hey, Marco! Come take a seat nexta me!’ Reiner’s words slurred drunkenly together as he thumped the chair next to him. Marco smiled weakly and took a seat, graciously accepting a beer from Bert’s large, damp hand. He could hear Armin reclaim a seat to his left and listened to the gentle murmur of his voice as he speaks to Eren, quelling the desperate longing that blossomed in his chest. _Something like that,_ he thought. _I want something like that._

He sits for a moment in quiet thought, listening absently to the hustle and bustle of the club and the conversations of his friends. Just as he lifts his beer to his lips for another generous gulp, the lights dimmed and a deep, husky voice boomed over the speakers. ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Hello and welcome to _The Titan!_ Tonight, I am very excited to announce the return of our headliner; the Cherrybomb!’ This proclamation was met with gleeful _whoops_ of joy. Clearly ‘the Cherrybomb’ was a hot commodity at _The Titan._  

A shiver ran down his spine as he anticipated the dancer, clenching and unclenching his fist around his drink. Armin reached over and patted his arm, mouthing _enjoy yourself_ and giving him a reassuring smile. Marco grinned back, excitement beginning to slither through his veins as he emptied his drink, returning his attention to the stage as the heavy curtains lifted.

He could see the silhouette of a man, legs spread shoulder distance apart as the first few beats of Kanye West’s _Black Skinhead_ blasted through the speakers. The harsh thump of the song reverberated through his chest, and every single speck of his attention was drawn to the spectacular man on the stage.

He had an undercut; dark brown on the bottom, mussed sandy blonde on top. The Cherrybomb wore tight black pants and a low cut singlet, exposing his pale skin, glowing shades of red and purple under the pulsing lights. His feet were bare as he moved sinuously across the stage, defined muscles rippling as he danced. He was gorgeous in every sense of the word, his dancing otherworldly, but the most captivating thing about him was his eyes. They glinted dangerously as he gyrated, the tawny irises pulsing with mischief as he owned the stage. He was hot and he knew and _damn_ if that wasn’t the sexiest thing, Marco didn’t know what was.

His hips thrust forward smoothly, and Marco licked his lips unconsciously, his thoughts growing increasingly indecent. Everything was a blur but the man on stage, grinning salaciously at the captivated crowd as he slipped his shirt off, revealing his perfect abdominals to screeches of absolute delight. Delicate black swirls covered his right pectoral and shoulder, muscles sliding sinuously under skin and ink. Marco swallowed thickly and shifted uncomfortably in his seat as what felt like every blood cell in his body ran south. The Cherrybomb slid to his knees, his hips jerking exactly in time with the pounding beat of the music. He ran his hands through his damp hair and his roguish eyes fell on Marco. He couldn’t move under the other man’s seducing gaze, couldn’t even breathe.

The Cherrybomb pushed himself off of the floor, his eyes slipping almost reluctantly from Marco’s as he shifted and twirled, delicate skin glistening with sweat as he spun, and what Marco wouldn’t give to be the dancer’s pants at the moment. Almost as soon as the thought entered his mind the Cherrybomb ripped his pants off and, clad only in the tiniest, laciest, black underwear, pushed his pelvis to the last devastating beats, tossing the garment straight at Marco. In his breathlessness, he barely caught them, hastily returning his eyes to the stage as the music dropped to silence, just catching the wolfish grin and salacious wink that the Cherrybomb aimed at him.

As the stage was plunged into darkness, Marco felt reality return to him. _Holy shit! Had that really just happened?_ He could barely hear the thunderous applaud from the crowd, missing the fluttering bills that rained down onto the stage in light of the performance. He’d never been _that_ attracted to somebody before, someone if he had just met, nonetheless. Reiner’s telltale chortle was what finally grabbed his attention, and he wrenched his gaze from the empty stage, turning to face his smirking friends. 

‘Seems like Marco likes the strip club more than we expected!’ He flushed furiously and rubbed his freckled face in his hands, trying to block out Eren and Armin’s quiet laughter behind him.

‘I just…’ he paused. _How could he possibly explain this?_ ‘He was good.’ It was lame, and he knows that it’s not going to fool anyone, not even the ever-trusting Bert, who eyed him suspiciously, face full of mirth. ‘Seriously, you guys!’

Eren leaned over and whispered something into Armin’s ear; the latter’s face lighting up instantly. ‘We’re… erm… we’re going to the bathroom for a quick sec, catch you guys in a few.’  Eren calls the words over his shoulder as he drags Armin away, waving slightly.

‘Real subtle, you guys!’ Reiner calls after them, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. He turns to look at Marco then, and Marco blanches at the sly look that Reiner’s giving him. ‘So you thought he was _good,_ eh, Marco?’ Bert fixes Reiner with a disapproving sigh but looks expectantly at Marco, thin fingers drumming almost inaudibly against the cheap upholstery of his chair.

Marco ignores them and returns his attention to his beer, scratching at the label. Reiner and Bert notice this and grin, sharing an annoyingly smug look before turning away from Marco and pressing their heads together in quiet conversation. Marco remains lost in thought, only half-watching the next two performances, clapping politely as they end. He drinks two more beers and a vodka soda as the show progresses. He’s completely fixated on the Cherrybomb, a man he’s just met, a stripper, and he doesn’t even know his real man. He sighs and lifts his drink to his lips, draining the remaining liquid, heaving himself unsteadily to his feet and signaling to Bert and Reiner that he’d be back soon.

He walks steadily though his head is muddled pleasantly, vaguely wondering about Armin and Eren’s whereabouts. He’s at the bar, just about to order another drink as Eren appears with Armin in tow, a huge grin on his face. ‘Hey Marco! We got you a lil’ sumthin’-sumthin’ for your birthday.’

His language has deteriorated and Armin’s cheeks are flushed brightly as presses a hand to his red lips, muffling giggles. Marco eyes them suspiciously, but the fog in his brain allows him little room to think. He shakes his head and glares at them suspiciously, ‘What is it?’

Both men erupt into giggles upon hearing his question, grabbing his hands and tugging him towards the doors at the back, just past the toilets. There’s another security guard standing by an ornately roped off area, his nametag reads ‘Erwin’. Marco peers past his burly shoulders, his eyes finding a dark hallway and his ears the stifled thump of music.

‘Pass, please.’ The man’s voice is smooth, and he extends a hand for the slip of paper in Eren’s hand. He checks it briefly, full lips quirking slightly at whatever’s written there. His lifts his gaze and assesses the three of them, twinkling blue eyes filled with laughter, ‘Which one of you boys is going through?’ His thick blonde eyebrows crumple with his white-toothed grin as both Eren and Armin point at Marco.

‘Wait, what?’ The words exit his mouth in a splutter, glancing confusedly between his friends. They really start laughing then, turning to flee.

‘Have fun, Birthday Boy!’ Eren’s voice cracks as he laughs, which only makes him laugh harder.

Armin’s no better, ‘Seeya later, Marco!’ The two boys join hands easily, naturally, and stumble back to their table. Marco watches with despair as Reiner turns to face them, face full of questions, only to roar with laughter and shoot a sloppy thumbs up in Marco’s direction as he hears whatever Eren says.

The security guard, Erwin, claps him on the shoulder and leads him through the hallway, pausing in front of an almost indistinguishable door, ‘Marco, right?’ Marco swallows thickly and nods in affirmation, sweaty palms clenching into fists as his cloudy mind begins to put the pieces together. _Of course._ ‘Your friends over there must really care about you a lot.’ In seeing Marco’s look of blatant confusion, he laughs and begins to elaborate. ‘You got a private dance with the Cherrybomb. That doesn’t come cheap, let me tell you.’

The Cherrybomb?! Marco’s heart races as he hears the name. _A lap dance from the Cherrybomb!_ He doesn’t know whether to kill or kiss his friends. Erwin leans over and punches a series of numbers into a slot by the door, stepping back as it slides open. ‘Have fun!’ He winks as Marco steps inside and turns to face him, a nervous smile plastered over his face. ‘Oh, and happy birthday!’ Erwin's voice is cut off as the door closes, sealing him into the side room.

‘Happy birthday, huh?’ He whips around, nearly stumbling as the alcohol pulses through his veins, and nearly has a heart attack as he locates the source of the voice. The Cherrybomb stands there, wearing nothing but an extremely tight pair of something that could only be described as _booty shorts._ Marco’s heart hammers in his chest as he stares at the man, mouth completely dry.His hair was a mess, dark eyeliner smudged under his ocher eyes as his perfect lips twitch into a smirk. ‘How old are you?’

His voice is alluring in the way that Marco imagines Satan’s would be. He opens his mouth to speak but can’t, wets his lips and tries again, ‘Uh-well. I’m 25 now.’ He winces as his voice shakes, and clears his throat awkwardly, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

The Cherrybomb sends him a devastating smile, revealing perfect white teeth. ‘You’re two years older than me. Nice. Always liked an older man.’ _Holy heck. Had he just heard that right?_ Marco was flustered, mouth opening and closing a few times as he struggled to find something to say. The Cherrybomb laughed, and the sound coiled around Marco’s brain and took his breath away. ‘Cute. Go sit over there, Freckles.’ _Freckles, ohmygod._

Marco momentarily forgets how to walk, stumbles slightly, and then trips awkwardly towards the crescent-moon shaped couch in the middle of the room. The Cherrybomb stays where he is, still smirking at Marco as he sits there, spine ramrod straight, ‘Cute.’ The word is so quiet Marco doesn’t know if the other man actually said, and blinks wide-eyed at him, confused. There’s thick silence for a few more seconds as the Cherrybomb examines him, and Marco wants to talk, wants to ask him everything, wants to _know_ everything. _What’s your name? How old are you? Do you have any pets? What’s your favourite ice-cream flavour?_ Before he can say anything, the Cherrybomb is on his feet, slender hands gripping a small black remote, and music begins to play.

The Cherrybomb’s hips move minutely, swaying gently and perfectly in time to the song he has selected, which one, Marco has no idea. His feet are bare again as they tap slightly against the carpeted floor, and Marco can’t breathe as the Cherrybomb twists his hips and turns, sliding his palms down his shapely legs and presenting his perfect, rounded ass to Marco. His breathe changes from non-existent to hasty as the Cherrybomb moves sinuously and gracefully towards him, coming close enough that Marco can watch the beads of sweat slide tantalizingly along the perfect ‘V’ of his hips. He wants nothing more than to lean forward and lathe that skin with his tongue, to leave bright red marks against that pale skin, to hear the man gasp for him, always for him. He has to mentally berate himself as his hands reach up for those hips, reminding himself that _no, no you can’t touch the dancers. No, Marco. Bad Marco._ But oh, would it be so awful to be bad?

The Cherrybomb’s knees slide forward, resting on either side of Marco’s thighs, pierced nipples level with his eyes. The other man begins to move, twisting his hips rhythmically to the music, and Marco can hear his quiet breathe as he gyrates. He’s losing himself, fast, and the dancer’s perfect ass is dangerously close to finding out just how much Marco’s enjoying himself. But then the Cherrybomb drops slightly, just grazing Marco’s crotch with his own, and Marco can’t help but groan, tilt his head up and lick a hot stripe up the man’s neck. He freezes, and the Cherrybomb groans, reaching down to grip Marco’s wrists, pulling his hands up to rest on his hips, letting him really feel the movements, ‘It’s okay.’ His voice is breathy as he talks and Marco groans again, gripping his hips so tightly that he’s sure to leave bruises.

The Cherrybomb laughs breathlessly at Marco, and drops his hips lower, both men moaning as their hips make contact, ‘Jean.’ The Cherrybomb gasps, his breath filling Marco’s lungs and driving him insane. ‘My name’s Jean.’ _Shit. Holy shit. Jean. Jean Jean Jean._

‘Jean,’ Marco groans his name and grinds his hips more forcefully against the other, pulling him down as he does so, enjoying the way Jean’s mouth falls open at the friction. ‘Jean, Jean, Jean.’

He’s close, so, so close to coming, and he knows Jean is too, the dancer’s hands clenching tightly in Marco’s shirt hips rutting faster, but suddenly there’s a knock on the door, and Jean stops moving, ‘Shit.’ He laughs breathlessly again, dropping his forehead to Marco’s shoulder before sliding shakily off of him. Marco’s mouth opens, devastated to be bereft of the contact, of the friction, of _Jean._

‘Wha-?’ His mouth hangs open as he stares at Jean, eyes hooded, hot fingers of frustration clawing at his gut.

Jean runs a hand over his face, the other dropping to his dick palming it roughly and groaning. Marco reaches out eagerly, fingers itching to replace Jean’s, to feel him, but he steps away, out of Marco’s grasp and groans heavily, shaking his head, ‘Time's up. I’m sorry.’ He smirks, pale fingers coming up to pinch his own rosy nipple and Marco moans brokenly, so willing to be doing that for him.

‘I’ll see you around, okay?’And before Marco can say another word, make another move; Jean is gone, sliding through a door in the back, leaving Marco with a parting wink. He sits there, completely dazed, frustrated and strangely empty, despite sporting a raging hard-on. There’s another knock at the door, and Marco gets back up.

‘I’m coming!’ He stands up and looks down at the front of his pants, where his cock strained uncomfortably against the zipper. _Or not_ , he thought miserably as he pushed the door open, stepping back into reality.

He felt light-headed as he toddled back to the table, sitting down abruptly and shifting so that his slightly-too-big sweater concealed the noticeable bulge he was sporting. His friends all looked at him expectantly, all four sets of eyes wide and eager, and he knew they were scrutinizing his appearance, trying to get the story before he spoke the words. He just shook his head at them, still confused. Reiner patted his arm comfortingly, and Eren looked like his was about to say something, likely inappropriate, but was stopped by Armin’s gentle hand on his shoulder and a slight shake of his blond head.

Marco sighed deeply and settled back into his chair, glad that when it really came down to it, his friends, even drunk, understood him enough to leave him be when he needed it. The rest of the night passed in a blur, with Jean always on his mind but never on the stage. He watched the performances as he had before, absently, politely and quietly. He talked and laughed with each of the others, making half-hearted replies to their attempts at distraction, appreciating them more and more as the night progressed.

As the last dancer finished, flamboyantly grinding his ass and swinging his hips as the last notes of his song struck. Marco clapped with the others, even tossed a one on the stage, garnering a wink from the performer, and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, preparing to leave with the others.

A firm hand on his shoulder stopped him, his heart beat a little faster as the body accompanying that hand slid closer, hard and hot and oh so _perfect,_ ‘Marco, right?’ Jean’s dark voice was husky in his ear and he felt his knees tremble. He couldn’t do anything but nod, breath escaping him in a rush as he felt soft lips against his ear, ‘Mmmmm.’ Jean sighed contentedly, hungrily in his ear, sending a fresh wave of lust through his hyper-sensitive body. ‘You wanna get out of here, Marco?’

He groans and turns, his head hot, his heart thumping, grabs Jean’s wonderful face between his large hands and kisses him. God did he kiss him.  Jean’s full lips part with a hoarse moan and their lips are finally pressed together and Jean tastes like the sun, like the sky, like home. _How, how is this so good?_ Jean’s tongue slides along Marco’s bottom lip and then he’s biting it, tugging it out and releasing it. His eyes are on fire as he regards Marco, eyes on fire.

‘Yes.’ Marco sighs, barely audible. ‘Yes, please.’ Jean grins and pecks him briefly, chastely, sweetly, grabbing his hand and pulling him out the back door of the club, with a curt nod in the direction of Marco’s friends. _His friends!_ ‘Thank you so much for tonight, you guys! I’ll call you!’ He calls it over his shoulder, briefly catching the same expression of shock mirrored in all four faces as Jean pulls him out onto the freezing street.

‘You’re a gentleman, aren’t you?’ Jean laughs, and it’s so infectious that it makes Marco grin, breathing white mist into the dark.

Marco tugs Jean’s hand, pulling him closer, pressing his hard body into a nearby wall, kissing him breathless, and kissing him perfect. He pulls away and grins at Jean’s expression, ‘Only when I want to be.’

And Jean groans and grabs the lapels of his jacket, pulling him in closer, pushing his tongue between his lips and curling it around Marco’s. Their lips slide against each other, tongues twisting, memorising every crevice, every tooth, every bump in the other’s mouth. Jean pulls back, gasping for air, fingers tangling in Marco’s dark hair, toes curling as Marco sucks possessive red marks into the pale column of his throat. ‘My apartment is three blocks from here, think you can keep it in your pants until then?’

Marco laughs breathlessly against Jean’s neck, fingers stroking the taut, exposed skin of his stomach, ‘Yeah, I think I’ll manage.’ He leans in and bites Jean neck, reveling in the gasp he’s rewarded with. ‘Maybe.’

Jean shakes his head, plants a kiss to Marco’s nose and reclaims his hand, ‘Let’s fucking go.’

Marco doesn’t know how long it takes them to get there, he only knows how Jean’s hand feels in his own, shivering as he feels the calluses that would no doubt feel amazing wrapped around his dick. One moment they’re outside the club, the next they’re hurrying down the street, hand-in-hand, giggling giddily, their breath furling like ghosts around them as they run.

Finally, finally, _finally_ they’re at Jean’s apartment, and then Jean’s letting go of his hand to slot the key into the lock, and Marco presses up against him, grinding into him, sucking kisses into the back of Jean’s neck. Jean pants, fingers fumbling as he attempts to turn the key, forehead falling momentarily against the heavy wood of the door as he shivers under Marco’s hands.

‘Shit, Marco. You’re really not that much of a gentleman, huh?’ His voice is shaky, and it turns Marco on like nothing else.

‘Just open the door, please.’ His own voice surprises him, pitched low and gravelly with his arousal. Jean shudders against him.

‘I fucking would if you’d stop trying to fuck me into my front door.’ Marco laughs against his neck and steps back. Jean hastens to unlock the door, completing the task in seconds without Marco’s interference.

And they’re inside, and neither one bothers about the lights, they only care about each other. Jean shucks Marco’s coat off and latches onto his neck in retaliation from earlier as Marco struggles with his shoes, growling low in his throat as he finally gets them off, wrapping his arms around Jean’s waist and ducking his head to forcefully catch his lips again.

Their kisses are hungry, lust-driven and passionate. Marco has never experienced anything this hot, and he moans long and low as Jean presses a thigh against his covered dick, grinding into him. ‘Ugh- shit, Jean!’ Jean laughs into his mouth and continues pressing into him. Marco ruts shamelessly against his thigh, head falling back against the wall as he moans, drool sliding from his parted lips.

Jean leans up and licks the stray saliva from Marco’s mouth in possibly the hottest gesture Marco has ever experienced. He growls again, too lost in his pleasure, in Jean’s pleasure to feel embarrassed over his behaviour or the obscene sounds slipping from between his open lips. His hand slides from Jean’s hair to his dick, palming it roughly through the fabric of his jeans, laughing as Jean bucks eagerly into the touch, ‘You’re incredible.’ He breathes the words into Jean’s neck, sucking his earlobe into his mouth, biting gently.

Jean moans loudly and bucks his hips against Marco’s hand more forcefully at the words, turning his face up to watch him with eyes full of passion, lust, flame, ‘You’re fucking fantastic.’

And with that they’re kissing again, sweetly this time, their lips sliding gently together, tongues tangling and curling, at complete opposites to the way they’re rutting against each other. Marco grabs the leg that’s between his thighs, tugging it up and around his hip, thrusting desperately into Jean. Jean’s head falls back and his tongue lolls uselessly from his mouth, moans spilling like water from his red lips. Marco can barely control his breathing, and he leans forward, latching onto Jean’s neck, sucking and kissing and biting until he’s sure he’s left a plethora of colourful marks, claiming Jean as _his._

At the possessive nature of Marco’s touch, Jean’s arms wrap around his shoulders tightly, bringing his other leg up, sliding it around Marco’s hip. Marco’s hands are on his ass in an instant, kneading the flesh through the coarse fabric, still grinding desperately into Jean, their rock-hard cocks rubbing intoxicatingly together.

Marco pulls away first, panting, ‘Bedroom?’ The word is a question, breathless and desperate. Jean grins brilliantly down at him and grabs his hair, leaning down to whisper directions in his ear. Marco groans and stumbles through the dark corridors of Jean’s apartment, kicking the bedroom door open and stepping inside, immediately locating and throwing Jean down onto the bed.

He stands for a moment, drinking the sight of Jean in desperately, panting and _wanting._ His lips are flushed and swollen from their frantic kisses, his neck reddening from the multitudes of marks that Marco had left. Jean smirks at him, reaches down and pulls his shirt off of his head, baring his muscled chest. His silver nipple piercings gleam in the bright moonlight, the black ink of Jean’s tattoo appearing to shift and coil under the pale light.

Jean slides to the edge of the bed and sits, grinning coyly up at him, ‘Can I suck you off?’

Marco thinks that he’s about to blow his load right then and there, blow it in his pants like a fucking teenager. He grapples for his sanity and nods frantically, taking a shaky step forward, closer to Jean’s glorious body.

He wastes no time ridding Marco of his pants, instructing him to chuck his sweater as Jean works on his belt. And then Marco’s standing there, naked as the day he was born, hard, flushed, aching cock pressed closely against his stomach, leaking thick drops of pre-come. Jean eyes him and licks his lips, _actually fucking licks his lips,_ and leans forward, grabbing the base of Marco’s dick and staring him straight in the eye as he licks a long stripe from base to tip.

Marco shudders and groans, hands curling in Jean’s hair as he sucks the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the slit, gathering the pre-come there before dipping lower, relaxing his throat and taking Marco all the way to the base, until he can feel his dick brushing against the back of Jean’s throat. He groans and has to desperately fight the instinct to buck his hips into the tight, inviting warmth, fingers cinching tighter in Jean’s messy hair.

Jean hums around his length contentedly, before beginning to bob up and down Marco’s length, tongue curling deliciously around the length as the head repeatedly prod the back of his throat.

‘Unnngh… Uh! Ah… Jean!’ Marco had absolutely no control anymore, Jean had reduced him to a shivering wreck, drool sliding freely down his chin as the other man sucked intoxicatingly on his dick. When Jean’s teeth gently graze the thick vein along the length, Marco pulled Jean’s mouth off of him with a loud _pop!_ Jean grinned up at him, and wiped his mouth from semen and saliva, licking his fingers as he settled further onto the bed.

Marco snarled and lunged forward, gripping the edges of Jean’s pants and tugging them down to his ankles, along with his boxers. He kissed his lips, sliding his tongue gently into Jean’s mouth, hand sliding down to brush along the length of Jean’s straining cock, weeping pre-come. Marco moves to kiss him lower, sliding his tongue over Jean’s pierced nipples, tugging at the studs with his teeth. Jean writhes beneath him, fingers gripping and carding restlessly through Marco’s thick hair. When Marco’s tongue dips into his bellybutton, Jean loses it, grabbing Marco’s head and pulling him up.

‘Just fucking fuck me already, _fuck.’_ Jean’s voice was desperate, cracking and Marco growled and kissed him deeper, fucking his tongue into the hot cavern of Jean’s mouth, before pulling away, settling over him.

‘Lube and condoms?’ Marco’s voice is deep and Jean shudders at the question, pointing at the bedside table. Marco shifts off of him and fumbles around in the draw, finally locating a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms.

‘Fuck! Hurry!’ Jean’s hand is on his dick and _holy heck is that hot._ Marco covers two fingers liberally with lube, rolling the liquid between his fingers, warming it as best he can. At the press of one of Marco’s fingers against his entrance, Jean shudders and pulls him down, kissing him as Marco’s finger slides knuckle deep, making a few hurried thrusts, stretching him out quickly.

Deeming Jean ready, Marco slides another finger in, scissoring his fingers and curling his fingers, searching for that bundle of nerves that he knows will drive Jean insane. The tips of his fingers brush gently over the nerves and Jean jerks and keens under him, body twisting as Marco focuses his attention deliberately on that one spot, adding a third finger and curling and rubbing and crooking his fingers until Jean is a quivering mess, mewling and begging him.

‘Shit.’ He mumbles the word and lifts the condom to his lips, ripping the packaging off and rolling it on, coating his dick in a generous amount of lube, before positioning himself over Jean, rubbing the tip of his thick dick against Jean’s fluttering hole. He pushes in gently, watching Jean’s face contort in pleasurable pain as he bites his lip and grabs fistfuls of the rumpled bed sheets.

‘Holy fucking shit.’ Jean breathes against his neck, teeth grazing the skin as he speaks and Marco groans and buries himself to the hilt, holding his hips still as he waits for Jean to adjust to his length. Marco groans into Jean’s hair, peppering kisses to his sweaty forehead, whispering heated praise.

‘Fucking move, _ohmygod.’_ Jean’s voice is a run together moan, and Marco pushes desperately into him, thrusting long and deep into the welcoming, gorgeous body below him. ‘Marco, Marco, _Marco!’_ Jean’s cries are too sweet and Marco picks up the pace biting down on the junction between Jean’s neck and shoulder as they move together desperately.

‘You’re so _tight!_ ’ Marco grunts as he slams his hips deeper, Jean keening and curling in on himself underneath him, wrapping his muscular legs around Marco’s waist as his hand slides down to grip his dick, jerking himself desperately.

They’re both close from their heated frottage from earlier, and Marco makes no attempt to draw it out as he fucks hard into Jean, the blunt head of his dick ramming Jean’s prostate dead-on with every thrust. Jean’s tightening around him and suddenly he’s coming; spurts of thick, white come splattering both of their chests and dripping from Jean’s hand as he cries Marco’s name, riding his orgasm.

The sudden, twitching tightness of Jean around him combined with Jean crying his name through orgasm has Marco thrusting deeper and harder until he’s buried as deep as he can go, finally releasing himself, bucking into Jean through his orgasm, moaning Jean’s name.

Finally coming down from his high, Marco pulls out of Jean and ties off the condom, tossing it in the bin to the side of the dresser. He collapses next to Jean for a second, before grabbing a couple of tissues from the table and gently cleaning Jean’s come from both their chests as his partner curls his fingers gently through his hair. Marco hums contentedly at the gesture, dropping the tissues in the bin and returning to Jean, cradling him close to his chest.

‘That was fuckin’ amazin’, Freckles.’ Jean’s exhausted murmur coils through his post-coital brain and he grips him tighter, burying his face in Jean’s neck, overcome with affection for this man. ‘To think we only jus’met.’

Marco laughs softly into his hair and hums in quiet agreement. He’d have to thank Reiner later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I actually loved writing this! There will never be enough Stripper AU!!! And idk stripper Jean is insanely hot omg just saying
> 
> this is inspired by Mouse's amazing incredible stripper au piece which I adore! http://thisismouseface.tumblr.com/post/80154833601/never-enough-stripper-au
> 
> I really love feedback, so it would be great if you could leave some :)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, this is unbeta'd and written in like two days so please excuse grammar mistakes
> 
> I have a tumblr if you feel like hitting me up with suggestions for another fic!  
> http://the-varden.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks again :))))


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